by Claire Adams
"So, where's my cut?" Kev asked. He appeared well behind the punching bag and out of range. "I hear you did quite well at the fight last night and if my calculations are right, you owe me quite a bit of cash."
"What fight? I didn't have anything scheduled last night," I said.
"Well, nothing that explains the cuts on your knuckles and that huge bruise over your ribs," my coach said.
"Come on, Aldous, you know Vegas can be a rough town. And, us fighters are known to blow off steam," I said.
He caught the bag and held it. "You're damn lucky you didn't get injured or caught."
"He did get caught, I caught him," Kev said. "And, as your manager, I've got to say you should sign with that Kya Allen. Any woman ballsy enough to break into a bare knuckle fight just to keep an eye out for you is worth signing some endorsement deal for."
"You were there?" I asked Kev.
"Of course, and I would have stepped in to shield you from Darius Johnson if our Country Club Princess had not taken care of him first," Kev said. "Seriously, she is shattering that good girl reputation of hers left, right, and center."
"Yeah, she's no saint," I said.
"Oooh, do tell," Kev followed me towards the locker room.
"No way in hell." I tore my gloves off and rinsed off in the shower. I had thought like Kev that maybe Kya was more than her reputation let on. The last twenty-four hours with her had made me hope. Then again, maybe all she wanted was what most women wanted from me– a wild night with an infamous bad boy. It was easy with me because they assumed I did not feel a thing. I wished I had not felt anything with Kya.
I dressed quickly and slipped out of the gym before Aldous or Kev could corner me again. I needed to see Kya. I wanted to look her in those green eyes and see what she had to say. Was it something I said or did? Or had she just used me like all the other women had? She had said it was nothing to do with business, but I was a fool if I thought that made it mean something.
The cab dropped me off in front of the Tropicana, and I was relieved the paparazzi were busy with some reality television star and her tiny Chihuahua. I was almost to the front doors when I caught sight of Dana Maria in a heated argument with a concierge.
"You can't kick me out and you know it," she said. "You don't have any proof and I could sue you for sexual harassment."
"What is going on?" I asked.
"Sorry, Mr. Morris, she claims to know you. The Tropicana does not allow solicitations and I hope she has not been bothering you," the concierge said.
"Bothering me? It looks like you're bothering the lady. What is this? How dare you accuse her of prostitution." My fingers curled into fists.
"No, Fenton, don't bother. It happens all the time," Dana Maria said. "Just because I choose not to change into plain clothes to go to work."
"Exactly. Take your work elsewhere," the concierge said.
"She's a dancer." I stepped between Dana Maria and the uniformed man. "And, you are going to apologize to the lady."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Morris, I know we cater to our celebrity guests, but I cannot allow her to be here."
"Allow her to be here? She is staying with me. She's my sister!" My knuckles clipped his cheekbone before I knew I had released the punch.
The concierge fell to the ground and glowered up at Dana Maria. "You're lucky he's lying for you."
My sister put a sharp heel in his chest and leaned down to flash her driver's license in his face. "See what it says there? Or does my brother need to correct your vision?"
The concierge turned pale. "I'm sorry, Ms. Morris. It was a simple misunderstanding. Please, let me get the door for you and your brother." He scurried to his feet and held open the door.
I urged Dana Maria through to the lobby before the crowd of reporters could catch up with us. In order to amend his mistake, the concierge stopped the flood of cameras and called security to help. I was relieved as we slipped through the crowd at check-in and made our way across the lobby to the hotel elevators.
Then, I saw Kya. She was sitting at a small restaurant table set with gleaming silverware. She caught my eye, and I saw a flash of emerald green anger before she blinked and blew me off. I could not move. I knew I needed to get Dana Maria away from the photographers, but I stared at Kya. She was angry with me. The thought gave me hope. If she was mad, then she cared and that was what rooted me to the spot.
"Is that her?" my sister asked. "I did meet her. She answered the door at your suite."
"Did she say anything to you? Was she rude?" I asked.
Dana Maria stuck out a hip and planted a hand on it. "Let me ask you a question, little brother. Did you tell her I was coming over?"
"No," I said. "We got distracted." I tried to catch Kya's eyes again. She had to remember how good it felt to be together. It could not just be me. She had to feel the same.
"Jesus, Fen, did you sleep with her?"
"Why? How could you tell?"
My sister punched me in the shoulder, hard. "So, you can't stop talking about the girl, you sleep with her, and then you invite me to come over, but you don't tell her anything about me. Think about it, little brother. Think about how it all looked from her perspective."
Dana Maria gestured to her blaze orange dress and tall platform pumps. She was anything but subtle, and I admired her for being straightforward about herself and what she did. Then, it dawned on me. Kya opened the door to see my sister who had come over straight from work.
My sister punched me again. "Too slow, Fen. You slept with her and then invited a stripper over. No wonder she's trying to kill you with those green glances."
I rubbed my shoulder and shrugged. "People shouldn't judge you based on what you're wearing. They don't know you. They don't know how we grew up."
"Do you know how she grew up? I've heard you call her Country Club Princess. Where's that come from? The clothes she wears. Sounds to me like you're just as judgmental as that concierge out there," Dana Maria said.
"It’s not the same and you know it," I said. "She dresses that way to make business deals. If anything, she uses it to cover up who she really is. You don't do that."
"I don't hide much," my sister said. She stared down a trio of young men who gaped at her. "Though, we both know you do exactly the same thing as your prim Ms. Allen. You wear your reputation like a bulletproof vest."
I tugged my sister into an alcove of potted palm trees. "You of all people should understand that. I was done being a burden to you. I needed to be on my own. And, to do that you've got to be tough."
"You are tough, Fen," she said. "But you're also being tough on her. Why are you giving her such a rough time?"
"I'm not," I said. My sister clicked an impossibly tall heel. "I'm not doing it on purpose."
"I think you are. I think you're pushing her every bit you can in the hopes that she'll turn and run. Then, you won't have to worry about keeping her out. You won't have to worry about her making a place in your life. That way it won't hurt when she's not there anymore."
"And, what's wrong with that?" I asked. "I'm not ready to share my life with anyone."
"Come on. When are you going to stop preparing and start living?" she asked. "Making sure everything is perfect first is making you miss out and it’s no guarantee that it all won't go to hell."
I shook my head. "I've got nothing to offer her. She doesn't really want me. It’s just fun for her to get out of her comfort zone, you know, go crazy in Vegas like every other tourist."
"So, you're not crazy in love with her?"
"No. It would be crazy if I was even near to feeling anything for Kya Allen," I said.
"Good." Dana Maria peeked over my shoulder. "Because she looks pretty cozy with that handsome man."
I brushed aside a palm branch and looked at Kya. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the man she was with was the same man from the nightclub the first time we met. The man had a catalog quality that matched his short, cropped hair and square jaw. I
hated him. Then, I wanted to kill him.
The man's hand trailed down Kya's bare shoulder and curled around her hand. While I crushed the palm branch in my clenched fist, he lifted Kya's hand and brushed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. His other hand was between them, under the table and in a haze of red, I imagined what else he was touching.
"Yeah, you're not crazy for her at all," Dana Maria said. She wrenched my hand free from the palm tree and pulled me towards the elevators. "Let's get you upstairs before you do something you'll regret."
"You mean like going over there and asking her exactly what she thinks she's doing?"
"Hey, you want to make a fool out of yourself, go right ahead," she said.
My shoulders slumped and I let my sister lead me across the lobby. She dragged me towards the elevators, as my steps got heavier. Even if there had been a misunderstanding about who my sister was, Kya had moved on with lightning speed. And the worst part was she had found someone perfect for her.
The doors shut and the handsome man's face beamed at us from an event poster. I swore. Kya had moved on to the number one pick for the big golf tournament. She wasn’t interested in a mixed martial arts fighter from a low rent background. She had her sights a lot higher than me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kya
I unwrapped the black dress, fresh from the cleaners. I thought about wearing the purple dress, but Jackson McRay seemed like a traditional man, even in Las Vegas. I had spent the afternoon cyber-stalking him and had not once seen a picture of him with a sequined or tube top sporting woman. He was rarely photographed with women and only with decent, conservative women from prominent families. I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.
The way Fenton Morris had attracted paparazzi to the Tropicana, it was guaranteed someone would get a picture of Jackson McRay on a date the night before his big tournament. All I could think about was measuring up to the elegant women with their perfect lineages that he was normally with when photographed. I had my reputation, but it was nothing worthy of a caption.
I clasped my pearls around my neck and checked the perfect bun I had twisted into my hair. I did not smile into the mirror. That made me pause. The real reason was not the worries about being captured by paparazzi. I was not even nervous about going on a first date. The only problem was I was not excited to be going out with Jackson McRay. And, it had nothing to do with him.
I had not seen Fenton all afternoon. Just as I took out my phone and considered sending him a message, I heard voices in the other room. The overlapping peals of female laughter made me wish I could stay in the master bedroom and barricade the door, but I had to go and meet Jackson in the lobby. I pushed the door open and went to see who Fenton had invited back to the suite now.
The stripper, wait, exotic dancer named Dana Maria was there with five of her friends. They obviously knew each other from work and had come to party before their shifts. Two ransacked the kitchen for glasses while the others staked out spots on the white sofas and opened wine bottles. I cringed at all the red wine I saw.
"What you looking at, Miss Priss?" one wildly redheaded woman asked.
"I was just looking for Fenton," I said.
"I bet you were, Dana says he's got all sorts of groupies just offering it up wherever he goes. You one of those fight groupies, honey?" the redhead asked.
"Look at her," a woman decked out in leopard print said. "Her life's probably all picket fences and book groups. She needs it from him bad."
"Fenton is not here," Dana Maria said.
She got up and threaded her way past her friends’ spiked heels around the coffee table towards me. I could tell she wanted to say more, but I could not handle the way her friends talked about me as if I was not there.
"Perfect little black dress and white shiny pearls. Don't let her fool you, she nasty," the redhead said.
"Stop, Jewels," Dana Maria said.
She took a step toward me, but I spun and marched out the door of the suite. I breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator opened at my touch. I could not run down the stairs to the next floor in my heels. I had no idea how those women walked in their shoes, much less danced.
By the time my taxi dropped me at the restaurant, I realized I had been chased out of my own suite. I was very early and had no choice but to go sit at the bar by myself. I sipped at the water with a twist of lime the unimpressed bartender gave me and tried not to think about Fenton.
Seeing all of the women lounging around the suite should have twisted the knife in deeper – no, it should have cut him out of my system once and for all. I shook my head and told myself to stop acting crazy. Here I was waiting at an elegant restaurant for my charming date and I was fixated on Fenton Morris. I checked my watch and slid off my stool. The only way to get him out of my mind was to confront him. I had not gotten where I was in my career by running away from confrontation. I needed to see Fenton face to face and find out what had happened between us.
"There you are, I'm sorry if I'm late," Jackson said. He appeared behind me with a single white rose. "I got you a thank you present."
I took the rose and eyed the small box tied with a bow. "A thank you present? For what?"
"The endorsement deal just cleared with my lawyers. Now, I know you were telling the truth. It's a solid deal, and I signed the papers this afternoon."
"Then, it’s me that should be getting you the thank you present," I slipped back onto my stool and untied the gold bow. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. "A set of golf gloves embroidered with pink flamingos. You shouldn't have!"
"Just a reminder of your victory on the mini-golf course. If I hadn't missed that flamingo hole, I would have beaten you," he told me.
"Well, there's always tomorrow. Or are you busy?" I asked.
He tugged me off the stool, took my arm, and wrapped it around his. "Oh, that's right, the big golf tournament. According to my coach, I have a curfew tonight. For you, I think I might make an exception."
No sooner had we been seated than I felt Jackson's palm slide up my knee and rest on my thigh. He winked and gave my leg a squeeze as the waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for me again and as soon as the waiter retreated his fingers began lazy circles that dipped down to my inner thigh.
I shifted in my seat. "Early curfew, it is, then. I don't want to get my new client in trouble with his coach," I said.
"I'm not your client tonight and don't worry about the curfew, unless you want to skip dinner and just head back to my room right now," he said. He pulled my leg over to his and my stomach lurched.
He was handsome, charming, successful, and had a sterling reputation, but I suddenly wished I was anywhere else but at our table. I had to figure out a way to let him down easy and escape without compromising the endorsement deal. I had dealt with rejecting clients before and their egos were unpredictable.
That was why I felt a wave of relief when I first spotted Fenton weaving his way to the front door of the restaurant. He immediately had words with the doorman, standing toe to toe with him, his chin jutting out at a dangerous angle.
"Oh, no," I said, pointing to Fenton. "Looks like someone never should have left his room."
An ugly scowl covered Jackson's face, until he realized I was looking at him. "The pressure gets to some athletes. He lost a few days ago, and now he's facing a harder opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he flamed out completely now."
I wanted to tell Jackson that Fenton was the last person I could imagine crashing and burning, but before I could defend him, Fenton shoved the doorman back and started yelling. His words were slurred and the crowded sidewalk gave him a wide berth. He noticed the space and turned in a slow circle, as if he had forgotten where he was. Then he looked up, saw the restaurant sign, and nodded to himself.
What had looked a moment ago like a coincidence created by the universe to help me choose Jackson, now looked like Fenton was moving with purpose. Had he followed me to the restaurant? Did he kn
ow I had a date?
Fenton marched right up to our table, cementing the fact that he had come there specifically to ruin my evening. He snatched up the wine the waiter had just poured me and spun it wildly in the glass.
"An expensive vintage, no doubt," Fenton said. He stuck his nose in the air and did his best to appear like a snobbish man wearing a monocle and suspenders. "Though I do believe you could find a better pairing."
"You're drunk, Mr. Morris, and not making any sense," Jackson said.
"Then, let me be clear. The lady can do a lot better than you."
"The lady can speak for herself," I said. "Where are your friends, Fenton? There was quite a party looking for you earlier. A bunch of dancers wanting to take you out dancing."
"Friends? Those are my sister's friends," Fenton said. His blue eyes crashed into mine. He reached out and grabbed a handful from the salad the waiter had only moments ago slid into place. "Ugh, bitter and too lemony. Let me guess, the lady that can speak for herself let this joker order for her?"
"This joker is asking you to leave," Jackson said. He stood up and flagged down the maitre d' and security.
"Come on, Kya, you're an order-for-yourself kind of a girl. You're not all of this. And, you certainly don't want to be with him," Fenton said.
The whole restaurant was looking. My cheeks were bright red flames, but I kept my voice steady. "What did you mean those were your sister's friends?"
"So, you really didn't know?" Fenton asked.
"Sir, come with me," the security guard interrupted, latching a large hand on Fenton's arm.
Fenton yanked his arm free easily and turned back to me. This time, the security guard grabbed both his biceps and tried to turn him towards the door. I stood up to stop him, I needed to hear what Fenton had to say, but Jackson shielded me from the scene with one long arm.